


Soldier, Soldier

by DefinitelyNotScott



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Garen POV, Lore 1.0, Marriage Proposal, Sign Language, musical communication, mute character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2019-01-05 10:08:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12187947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DefinitelyNotScott/pseuds/DefinitelyNotScott
Summary: Sona finds Garen in the garden and provides him an unexpected opportunity.





	Soldier, Soldier

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DemaciasBrokenWing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemaciasBrokenWing/gifts).



Garen was resting in the garden, enjoying the dapples of sun and shadow as they danced to the tune of the wafting breeze. He had a book in his hand but it was a prop, something to hold while he savored the outdoors. The bench he occupied was made more with surviving the elements in mind than comfort. However, he’d endured much worse on campaign, and soon enough he had leaned back and closed his eyes, soothed by the soft whispering of foliage moving in the wind.

Before he drifted off completely, however, another sound intruded on his consciousness - the chiming song he associated with Sona’s approach. He opened one eye to watch, a smile playing on his lips.

She floated to a stop in front of him, her graceful movements enhanced by the levitating forces of the etwhal. Her hands banged down on the strings, the familiar discordant jangle letting him know she wanted his attention. 

He gave up the last pretense of sleep, opening his other eye and shifting into a slightly more attentive position, without sitting completely upright. 

“Good day, Sona,” he said, his smile going soft and warm as he met her eyes. “Was there aught I could do for you today?”

She played a short phrase, which he immediately recognized as the start of a Demacian folk song. He chuckled. 

“That’s not very kind, Sona,” he teased. “You should know I’m not that kind of scoundrel.” Usually she played more of the tune for this particular game, but perhaps she knew how easy it would be to identify. 

Sona rolled her eyes, releasing a thin stream of air from her lips in a “Pft!” noise. Whisking forward, she barely paused long enough to give two raps to his head with her knuckles before speeding back to her original position and playing the same nine notes again. 

“Not that one, eh?” he said, theatrically rubbing his “injury”. 

She shook her head firmly and gave him a stern look, though she was still smiling. She played the phrase again, and waited expectantly, her head tilted to one side. 

Garen racked his brain for another song that used the same tune. That was the way of folk songs, always borrowing and blending, but he couldn’t think of one. 

Impatient with his lengthy pause, she played it again, a fourth time, but for the life of him he couldn’t think of any other lyrics than “Soldier, soldier, will you marry me?” 

Suddenly, his perspective shifted. 

“Oh,” he said, sitting bolt upright. Not the _guessing_ game. “Oh! Yes! Sona, yes!” He leapt up, shifting awkwardly as he tried to decide the best way to get around the etwhal.

Her mouth opened in a silent laugh and she shoved it to the side, lighting gently on the ground, like an angel descending from heaven. It only took him one step to sweep her up into his arms and spin her around. He desperately wanted to kiss her, but first he glanced at her hands to see if she had anything to say. 

“ _Finally_ ,” she signed, making him shake his head with a laugh. 

“For this abuse I wait to kiss you?” he teased, only for her to grab both sides of his face, pulling him down with unmistakable intent. He bent at her urging, and they kissed, excited and breathless. 

When their initial passion had been tempered, Garen tossed her in the air with another laugh of sheer joy. Then when he caught her he gently sat her on the bench, going down on one knee in front of her. He took her hands and kissed them, and when she reclaimed them from his grasp she reached up to touch his face and smooth his hair. 

“I must confess…” he said, smiling at her. “Today you have proven more valliant than I.” 

Her hands went still around his shoulders, and she tilted her head, brows furrowed in an exaggerated query. 

His hand fumbled at the breast of his coat, and he drew out a small jeweler’s bag. She sat up and her eyes widened. His lips quirked up at her surprise, but he gave his head a self-deprecating shake.

“I waited for an auspicious time when I should have _made_ one, and now I must settle for using the opportunity you give me.” He unbound the bag’s drawstrings and took out a jewelled ring. ”Sona Buvelle, would you do me the very great honor of accepting my suit and granting me your hand in marriage? 

Transfixed, Sona stared at the ring, her hands drifting from his shoulders to reach out and gently curl around the hand that held it.

“I only wish that I could have asked your mother’s blessing,” he said. There was a nudge at his shoulder as the etwhal butted gently against him, as ever drawn back to Sona. He felt her tense up at the intrusion, hands tightening around his. “And do I have _your_ permission?” he asked, half serious, half incredulous at his own impulse. 

He felt Sona brace, coiled as if for some sudden action, but the etwhal only let out a faint vibration, almost too low to be heard. There was a taut beat of silence where they waited for something more, but nothing else was forthcoming and they both relaxed. Sona reached out with one hand to guide the etwhal back to her side, and Garen returned his attention to her with a relieved smile. 

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. And _you_?” he asked. 

A delighted smile broke over Sona’s face and she began to nod, even as one hand signed “Yes, yes, yes.” 

“May I?” He held out his free hand, palm up, and she laid her left hand in it. Carefully, he slid the ring about halfway up her finger, and when he began to encounter resistance he stopped to let her finish the job. 

Garen knelt there, silently watching the look of wonder on her face as she turned her hand this way and that to admire the ring from different angles. 

She looked up at him and signed, “Your mother’s?”

“Aye, and my grandmother’s before her… I hope you don’t mind?” He felt that she wouldn’t, but, in the moment, a spectre of uncertainty loomed over his shoulder. However, she quickly put his mind at ease by shaking her head, still smiling at the ring. Then she blinked slowly and turned to meet his eyes. 

“So,” she signed, hands moving at the speed she had used when he was first learning. “Your _entire_ family has been waiting _how long_?” 

Garen winced. “Maybe not… my father…?” he protested feebly. 

Sona gave him a look. Reaching for the etwhal, her fingers plucked out the exact tones a person used when they said “ _Really?_ ” 

“I already admitted I shouldn’t have waited!” he said, laughter tinging his voice. 

“Now I see why Lux was trying to fob me off,” she signed. 

“Lux?” He reflexively glanced around, but, of course, he didn’t see anything, and he returned his gaze to Sona, concern pinching his features. 

Sona’s fingers strummed a laughing trill over the strings.”I wish I could say I don’t think your sister is so far lost to propriety as all that,” she signed. “But in reality I extracted a promise that she wouldn’t observe.” 

“Why is Lux involved at all?” he complained. 

“How do you _think_ I come to you so easily, with so little talk?” she signed, then, more broadly, directly over the etwhal. “Inconspicuous.” 

“Ah… retainers?” No, that could impede gossip only so long. “Hired… contractors?” He stumbled over expressing his impression that she had professional staff to keep the public at bay.

“I do employ people to guard my private life,” she signed. “But I am _informed_ ,” she paused to raise her eyebrows, tilting her head back to the house. Garen snorted. “...there is no one in Demacia more skilled than your sister.” She reached out and patted his cheek before continuing. “It’s been a nice perk to our relationship. I almost feel normal sometimes when I go out with her.” 

“Sona…” he started, putting a hand on her knee. Freedom from a very public life was one thing he could not offer her. Neither of them could afford that luxury, except in small amounts. 

Her hand still resting on the etwhal’s wing and a small, wistful smile on her lips, she leaned forward to curl her other hand at the nape of his neck and pressed her forehead to his. A soft “Shhhhh…” whispered between her teeth, and she closed her eyes to lean in and touch her lips to his. He kissed her back, a soft kiss - long and slow without losing any delicacy. 

They stayed that way for what seemed like a long time, until a piece of gravel under Garen’s knee became intolerable and he shifted to escape it. Unfortunately, Sona took that as a signal to pull away. 

Garen gave her his very best disappointed face, but, smiling, she only pulled on his hand and patted the bench beside her. He rose and sat in the place that she indicated, turning his knees to face her as much as possible. 

“Still…” she signed. “Do you think we could avoid making an announcement to anyone other than your family for a while?” She looked up at him from beneath her lashes. “Is it wrong that I want to keep you to myself, even for so short a space?”

“No, Sona. I also wish we could do without all the pomp and publicity required of us.” She reached out to brush his hair from his forehead, and he turned to plant a kiss on her palm before continuing. “I have no objection to delaying the announcement of our engagement. But I very much fear that you are correct in naming it a short space. Doubtless, unless we choose our time, and make it soon, someone will find a way to make the announcement _for_ us.” 

Sona sighed and nodded, face glum. Garen rested his arm on the back of the bench, careful of her hair, and settled his hand on her far shoulder. She curled against him with another sigh, and he navigated around her hair ornaments to place a kiss on the top of her head. 

“That doesn’t mean we can’t wait. Just… not for long.”

Sona sat upright and signed urgently at him. “Run away with me! Be a farmer! I know how to grow rice!” 

Garen chuckled softly, shaking his head. Lightly, he covered her hands with one of his in a silencing gesture. 

“This sword is not so easily turned into a ploughshare. You know I cannot go as long as Demacia needs me.” He shook his head again, ruefully. “And I don’t think you would find much satisfaction playing tunes for the growing fields either.” 

Her hands slipped free of his, hanging still in the air before signing, “Yes. I do not always know what my destiny is, but to leave it behind would haunt me.” 

“But sometimes you wish…?” Garen began, laying his hand on her cheek. 

She nodded against his palm, then leaned up expectantly. Garen’s sense of timing wasn’t so poor that he would leave a lady waiting. He bent and kissed her lips, his arm tightening around her shoulders. She leaned closer, her hands flattening on his chest, then creeping up to tangle in his hair. 

She wasn’t holding back, the heat and fervor of her own kisses inciting his own ardor. He could barely remember that Lux was out there somewhere even as a faint nagging memory, though he couldn’t imagine her _not_ waiting for news of this magnitude. Finally he _had_ to call a halt. 

“Sona, Sona, Sona,” he entreated, painfully aware of her hot breath down his collar, and the gentle scrape of her nails against his scalp, under his shirt. “We’re in the middle of the _garden_.” It wasn’t even a large garden like the one where they had met; what privacy they were afforded was brought about more by cunning landscaping than actual distance. 

At first she didn’t respond, and he feared he would have to gather himself to further heights of restraint. But then she sighed, and nipped sharply at his neck before reluctantly pulling away.

“Lux would turn anyone back,” she signed sullenly. 

“I’m not comfortable leaving Lux’s imagination unchecked in this situation,” he said, regret coloring his words. 

Sona huffed, and reached up to pat his cheek, her other hand pushing the etwhal out to a more comfortable distance. Garen ran his hand through his hair, adjusting his shirt and coat to a more orderly configuration. 

“Shall we go let your sister be insufferably smug?” she signed. 

“I suppose we had better,” he said, resigned but amused. “What was it you were saying about her putting you off?” 

Sona’s mouth opened in a silent laugh and her hands came up to gleefully sign, “She clearly knew you had the ring, because she kept trying to stall me once she knew what my plan was. I think she got impatient and decided that she’d given you enough chances… _or_ she was worried she was going to run out of plausible excuses.” 

Garen snorted. As far as _he_ knew, Lux’s supply of excuses was inexhaustible, though perhaps not the plausible ones. 

Sona reached for the etwhal, and it obediently floated to her. He offered his arm to her, to his _fiancée_ , he reminded himself with satisfaction. She placed her hand on his arm and he pulled her securely against his side. A simplified version of her usual song rose from her skillful fingers, and she lifted off from the ground with a tiny leap, putting more pressure on his arm to keep herself close. 

He looked down at her smiling face, the corners of his own eyes crinkling with pleasure. Gently, he squeezed the small warm hand on his arm before releasing it to gesture at the path. 

“Shall we?” he asked. 

Her tune became a little more sprightly, and he felt her buoy up against his side, her pigtail drifting into his back on the magical tide. Her smile was somehow sweeter and more brilliant when she nodded assent.


End file.
